Drabbles
by Snowe
Summary: My entries for Round 2 of the Dramione Last Drabble Writer Standing contest. Standalone drabbles with various themes. Week 1: Library. Week 3: Hogwarts. Week 4: Birthday Party.
1. Where they burn books

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of JKR. But we all knew that. Check out the dramioneldws community on livejournal for new drabbles to vote on every Thursday. This is from Week 1; "library" was the prompt. I'd love feedback, and especially welcome constructive criticism.

* * *

The burnt parchment crunches under his feet.

Granger would have a fit, he thinks, as he surveys the damage around him. He still half-expects to see her, at her table near the back--books stacked high all around, her bushy hair waving as she scribbles too-long essays.

Amycus and Alecto have begun to purge the library, row by row. Madam Pince had protested--and ended in the infirmary for her troubles.

He is in detention for "insufficient enthusiasm" with the Cruciatus Curse. The Carrows relish punishing him; Alecto's eyes glitter with obscene joy as she orders him to clear away the debris--_without magic_. He had always thought that the Dark Lord's return would restore his family's prominence. Instead, his father is wandless and disgraced; his ancestral home is now a barracks, overrun with half-breed filth. Blaise Zabini prances around Hogwarts as Head Boy, while he, scion of two ancient families, shovels garbage like a Muggle drudge.

In the Muggle Studies section, he notices one small book, wedged between the shelf and the wall--the only one to escape the Carrows' destruction. He picks it up and brushes the ash off the front cover.

_67 Ingenious Innovations by Meritorious Muggle-borns_

* * *

February 7, 1993

He is in the library, hard at work on his History of Magic essay. His father had been particularly displeased with his first year examination results:

_"This is your heritage, Draco, and yet an upstart girl of no wizarding family has bested you by a full fifteen points! I shall scarcely be able hold my head up at the next Governor's meeting...I trust you will give a better showing next year." _

He's studied hard, all year, but Granger is always better. He hopes she will be the next Mudblood found Petrified, and tells her so often, when Potter and Weasley aren't around. He tells her it's about time someone sweeps away the filth, that her sort are leeches and parasites, that she doesn't belong here. She usually sniffs haughtily and turns away, but today...he smirks as he remembers the flicker of hurt and uncertainty in her eyes.

_Crack! _

Granger slaps a book down on top of his parchment scroll, glares at him, and then flounces away--as much as a small girl can flounce while carrying an over-stuffed satchel.

_67 Ingenious Innovations by Meritorious Muggle-borns _

He snorts as he reads the title, but he does flip through the pages. The Wizarding Wireless Network. The Knight Bus. The Weird Sisters. Lies, all of it. He knows, because his father has told him so, that Mudbloods have never contributed one thing to their world.

After he finishes his essay, he shoves the little book behind the shelf, so that no other decent purebloods can be led astray by such falsehoods.

* * *

He gently tucks the book in his pocket and picks up the shovel again.

He reads it straight through that night, and wonders if Granger would have come up with the sixty-eighth.


	2. Second Tuesdays

I had to skip on Week 2, so this is Week 3, and "Hogwarts" was the challenge prompt. Again, I welcome feedback of any sort!

* * *

She dreads the second Tuesday of each month, because she has to sit across from Draco Malfoy for an hour and fifteen minutes without hexing, slapping, or insulting him.

She's quite proud of herself--she has lasted through seventeen meetings of the H.E.R.B. (Hogwarts Educational Review Board). But she's ashamed of herself, too, for hating him so much that she has to clench her fists in her lap, until her nails leave marks on her palm that last for days, just to get through the meeting without losing her temper.

She'd been shocked to discover, seventeen months ago, how much she still hated Draco Malfoy. She'd scarcely thought of him during the last four years, and she had fancied that all her old grudges had faded away. The loathing that had washed over her at the very first H.E.R.B. meeting had shocked, and even frightened her; she'd never hated anyone like this until now.

As she walks from the gates to the main doors each month, she tries to rationalize the anger away. Sometimes, she almost succeeds, and then, she'll see the spot where he first called her a Mudblood...the corner where the basilisk's eyes stared back from the mirror...the alcove where he gloated over Buckbeak's pending execution. All her old childhood hurts seem magnified, somehow, by what came after.

He's clearly uncomfortable around her. He's never looked her in the eyes--not once. He agrees with every suggestion she makes, even the bad ones. This makes her even angrier, because she knows that this is his way of making amends. She does not want him to be sorry. She wants the sneering, vicious Malfoy back, so she can hate him without remorse.

On her seventeenth walk back to the gates, Malfoy purposefully slows until she has to pass by him, or stop walking altogether. This is the first time they have ever been alone together, and she is afraid of what she might do or say. He still can't meet her eyes, but he makes halting, stuttering small talk. She will never remember exactly what she replied, but she finally sees him, and not the shade of the schoolyard bully that has haunted her for so long.

Maybe the second Tuesday of the month isn't quite as dreadful as she thought.


	3. 40

I made it to Week 4! This week, "birthday" was our challenge, in honor of our favorite insufferable know-it-all.

* * *

September 19, 2019

She _knew_ she should have called in sick today.

She'd always felt so smug and superior when other women had fussed over turning forty. Why should women be ashamed of their age? Wisdom and experience were beautiful things, after all. Women reached their sexual peak in middle age, after all! It would be time to relax, and travel, and really enjoy being married without the cares and inconveniences of children at home. She'd rather been looking forward to it...until the divorce.

Oh, she'd tried to seem as if she were enjoying her party. Her interns had worked so hard to pull off a surprise birthday luncheon, and seemed to think that they'd hit on just the thing to cheer her up. She'd been rather down in the few weeks since the children had left for Hogwarts. The house seemed so empty now.

So she'd smiled, thanked Matilde and Geoffrey profusely for planning the party, dutifully opened her presents, and really thought she might get through the day after all...until Malfoy showed up.

He always made it a point to mention the divorce when they met. She knew he was really sneering at her beneath the solicitous inquiries about her well-being and the children, and so she'd always brushed him off with curt replies and excused herself as soon as possible.

Now, though, it seemed impossible to shake him; he followed her around the room as she chatted with colleagues, brought her punch, and generally made a nuisance of himself until she ordered him to leave her alone. He just smiled in that nasty condescending way of his and insisted that she open his card.

It was ridiculously nice--probably cost more than most of the presents she'd received, she thought with a sniff. And inside:

_For a know-it-all, you really are quite daft. I'm tired of chasing you all over the Ministry, trying to be kind and sensitive and considerate about this whole divorce nonsense. Really, you're better off, and it's time you stop moping about getting older. I've always heard that women reach their sexual peak in middle age; ditch the party and we'll find out if it's true. _

She wasn't sure if she should slap or kiss him. So she did both, and wasn't quite sure which she enjoyed more. She told him further experimentation was required; he generously volunteered his services.

She was _really_ glad she hadn't called in sick today.


End file.
